The face of rage changed the room before the boss even moved again.
Sadness had made it unsettling. Rage made it lethal. The six swords no longer circled its body with that grim, distant rhythm from before. Now they came down with purpose, one strike herding, the next punishing, another already waiting where the retreat ended. The whole chamber tightened around it, and the surviving Awakeneds felt it quickly.
The first to die went in too late.
He tried to stab through the side after Byron's lightning clipped one of the boss's shoulders, but the opening had already closed. A sword took him through the throat and pinned him to the stone long enough for the body to jerk once before falling. The second barely lasted longer. She loosed an arrow from the rear, saw the boss turn, and froze where she stood. One of the lower blades crossed the room and opened her from the waist upward in a red-black burst that stained the floor near the throne.
